


The Beginning of Gray

by Shanola



Category: La Femme Nikita
Genre: F/M, Gen, Yuletide 2011
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-21
Updated: 2011-12-21
Packaged: 2017-10-27 15:37:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/297391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shanola/pseuds/Shanola
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the beginning, there was Section.  And then there was Paul and Madeline.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Beginning of Gray

**Author's Note:**

  * For [infinimato](https://archiveofourown.org/users/infinimato/gifts).



When doors of the plane opened, and the cold Russian wind whipped through the aisle, Paul had two immediate thoughts: Vietnam had never been this cold and how the hell was he going to pull this off?

He jammed his hat onto his head, buttoned his coat to the top, retrieved his briefcase and made his way down the metal steps of the plane to the cold concrete of the tarmac. It was late afternoon, but the sky was an odd mix of clouds and drizzle and snow that blurred the edges of the building as it leached all color from the surroundings.

Typical, Paul thought. Everything since Vietnam was a study in gray.

There were two men in long coats waiting for him next to an old car. Neither one of them spoke, but one of them opened the door and Paul didn’t waste any time getting out of the cold. Not that the car was any warmer. For the first time, Paul missed the humidity of his prison cell.

He pushed the thought away as the car lurched, gears grinding.

“Sorry,” the driver said in broken English. “I do not get chance to drive often.”

He replied in perfect, practiced Russian, “Just don’t wreck and I won’t have to kill you.” He said it with a smile, but the driver must have heard the tint of truth in his words, because he laughed nervously as he ground the gears.

It would be my luck, Paul thought, to survive dysentery, a jungle, and two years of intense spy training only to die in a car accident because my driver didn’t have any practice time. The car lurched again and threw Paul against the door. Perfect.

An hour later, the car finally ground to halt in front of a pocked brick building. It was all he could to force his fingers to unclench from the sheer terror of the ride. He opened the door, then paused.

“Thanks,” he said.

The driver’s face broke into a broad grin. “Welcome to Russia!” he said, and laughed. He was still laughing as he drove away, much smoother this time. Lack of practice, my ass.

It was full dark now and the street had only one dim street light at the corner and few people on the sidewalks. The door creaked with old weight when he pulled it open and stepped inside. He made his way through a shabby lobby to the far set of narrow stairs, then up three flights. Room 314. “Right where they said it would be,” he murmured to himself as he pulled out a key. It fit the lock and Paul stepped into his temporary lodgings. Dingy bed, dingy walls, dingy window, dingy sink. It didn’t matter. He unbuttoned his coat, started to discard it, thought better of it and lay down on the bed fully clothed.

Thirty six hours without sleep quickly caught up to him, and Paul slept.

~~~~

His ‘in’ came through Egran. They were sitting in a drinking house with a bottle of vodka. Paul was learning a myriad of new Russian words and they were both laughing at some of the more bawdy jokes floating around when Egran pointed across the room with his cigarette.

“Ah! I have someone I want you to meet.” He left their table and Paul took the opportunity to filch a cigarette and match and light up. He had just tossed the matches down and taken a long pull into his lungs when Egran returned with a companion.

“This is Marina,” he said. “Sit, sit!” He motioned as he seated himself. Marina slid into the chair next to Paul.

She smiled shyly at him and he couldn’t help but return it. Marina had dark eyes, dark hair and a trim figure. Not really his type, but attractive enough.

“Marina works at the Institute,” Egran was saying as he poured vodka into a glass for her. “She is in the botanical side of things there.”

“How interesting,” Paul said. Suddenly, Marina was looking a little more like his type.

“Oh yes,” Marina said. “I water all the plants, everywhere there.” He could read the amusement in her dark eyes, and couldn’t help but laugh.

She leaned close, and her hair tickled his cheek. “I have access all over. It can have benefits.” Under the table, she laid a hand on Paul’s thigh and squeezed.

He looked questioningly at Egran, who smiled and raised his glass before proclaiming, “Za vstrechi!”

“Za vstrechi,” Marina murmured and tossed her drink back.

“To our meet-up,” Paul echoed and followed their example. Even after half a bottle, the vodka still burned as it went down and he slammed his glass on the worn table before taking another drag on his cigarette. Marina refilled Egran’s glass, then her own before she leaned into him. Her breast brushed his arm as she poured the drink into his glass.

Yes, definitely his type.

~~~~

Four days in and Paul wasn’t sure if Marina was falling for him or if he was falling for Marina. During the day, Paul scoped out the building he had been sent to infiltrate and made plans. One day, he even managed to walk by the Kremlin, though he didn’t stay long. Moscow didn’t want tourists like him and he didn’t want to be a permanent ‘guest’, either. He kept his head down and blended, just like he had been taught.

Evenings were spent with Egran and Marina and a bottle of vodka in a crowded, smoke-filled room. Nights were spent exclusively with Marina.

Paul was well aware it had to end soon. He just didn’t want to admit it. But this was the fourth night, and he couldn’t spare a fifth. Everything had been arranged, escape plans made, contacts alerted. This morning, he had obtained the cylinder. That afternoon, he managed to get the dry ice. The rest would come from the Institute.

“Paul?” Marina stood in the doorway wearing only his shirt. “What are you thinking about?”

Well, that was an easy one. “I’m thinking that you wear my shirt well.” She smiled and came to the edge of the bed. Paul sat up and reached for her. “I’m also thinking you look better without it.”

And that was all that was said for a long time.

~~~~

The next morning, Paul followed Marina to work. He had copied her badge, making necessary changes, including replacing her picture with one of himself and altering the job title. For all the sophistication of the Soviet Union, faking a badge was remarkably easy. That actually made him a bit wary.

No, that’s not right, Paul thought. It put an element of excitement to his job that was exhilarating. It made the details sharper, the sky more clear and it made him feel deeply alive, like nothing ever had.

He walked the halls like he knew where he was going. Not difficult since he had done his homework, thanks to the building plans he had obtained and few innocent questions Marina had answered. His badge allowed him smooth access to the lab he wanted. It took only a minute to find the right refrigerator.

Inside were more vials than he had expected, all of them full of variola major, otherwise known as smallpox. Paul opened the canister he had obtained yesterday. He pulled out the vial that was inside and checked the label; it looked just like the ones in the refrigerator but was full of ordinary cowpox. Carefully, he took a vial from the refrigerator and replaced it with the cowpox vial. Even more carefully, he secured the tube of variola major in the canister and sealed it. He found it ironic that as one set of scientists were working to eradicate the disease from the face of the earth, another was working to make a more lethal strain which would in turn be a deadly biological weapon. The thought made him want to vomit.

Which would leave too much evidence behind, he thought. Instead, he stood and made his way out the door.

He was three steps to freedom when the alarm sounded. Four different escape scenarios raced through his mind and he discarded two of them. The next choice depended on the action the guards running toward him took. His gun was loaded and he was ready, but it would be better if he didn’t have to use it; it didn't have a silencer and would only draw attention. Paul tensed and waited, but the guards didn’t even look at him as they ran past.

Interesting, Paul thought. There were a few other people in lab coats staring after the guards so he did too. Once they disappeared around the corner, he moved casually in the other direction. His first escape route was blocked by the safety measures the alarm had triggered. The second option was in the direction the guards had taken.

He took the stairs down, walking with other people in lab coats as they descended flight after flight. On the ground level, the guards had locked the doors, effectively eliminating his immediate third option.

The fourth involved the roof and he was loathe to try to head back up the stairs against the flow people coming down; it would look suspicious. No one seemed to be looking for him, specifically. The alarm was not one that would generally be triggered from the lab he had been just left. In fact, Paul wasn’t sure where it had come from and that worried him.

“This way,” a feminine voice said behind him. He turned to see Marina dressed in a dull white work uniform.

“Come with me,” she said again, her voice urgent but not panicked. She didn’t rush, just milled through the crowd toward the back wall. He followed her. She seemed to disappear around a corner. A few seconds later, so did he, just in time to catch the door that was slowly closing.

He caught up to her on the second landing of the stairs. “Hold on, Marina,” he said and held her arm. “What is going on?”

Marina faced him. “Isn’t it obvious?” she said in perfect English. “I’m getting us out of here.”

Paul stepped back. This was entirely unexpected; it could get you killed. “Who the hell are you?”

Marina considered him for a moment. He could see the calculations going on behind those dark eyes. “We don’t have time for this,” she said, “but I know you, Paul.” She stepped close to him and the memory of how she had moved against him last night almost drowned him with intensity. “I’m Section. Let’s go.”

Then she was gone, her gait fast and sure. He had no choice but to follow, his mind churning with a thousand questions.

They made it out the door into a hidden garage where she led him to a car. She made to open the driver’s side door, but he stopped her with one hand on the window.

“Who are you?” he said.

“Section,” she whispered. He turned her around to face him.

“No,” he said, softer. “Who are you?” For a moment, he wasn’t sure she would answer. Then something changed in her face, and he could swear it was suppressed amusement.

“Madeline,” she said.

He nodded. “Madeline.” The name filled his mouth and rolled off his tongue. He nudged her aside. “I’ll drive”

She slid into the passenger seat and handed him the keys as he closed his door.

“Just follow my directions and we’ll be fine,” Madeline said.

She was right.

~~finis~~

**Author's Note:**

> za vstrechi is a Russian toast that translates "to our meet-up" (at least, that is what internet research says).


End file.
